Sir Eagan crouched beside the serving boy and sniffed. "Devil's porridge." He closed the boy's eyes and sat back on his haunches.
"What's that?" Achan asked.
"Hemlock." Sparrow looked over Sir Eagan's shoulder, tears pooling in his eyes. "It is very potent."
Achan squeezed his hands into fists and paced back a step, wishing he could draw Eagan's Elk and hack away at Lord Livna's desk. A glance at Sir Eric stilled him and he voiced his original question aloud. "How could this have happened? Whoever put the poison in likely got away."
"It couldn't have been the chief servant, Your Highness." Sir Eric's voice cracked but grew stronger. "Arne has been with my family for years. It doesn't make sense."
"The jug did not smell of hemlock," Sir Eagan said. "But there was a pellet in the prince's goblet. How much of your wine did you drink, Your Highness?"
Achan's jaw dropped. "Uh, I… Half a…not quite half. Then the food came."
"It had not dissolved enough to affect you, but by the time the boy took it to refill…" Sir Eagan heaved to his feet. "Someone dropped it in your goblet. Maybe during the gifts?"
"It should've been me," Achan said. "Someone was trying to kill me. The boy was a fool to drink from my cup."
"My guards did not permit just anyone into the great hall tonight," Sir Eric said. "Until…"
"But who could be vouching for all the servants?" Inko asked.
"My wife could, I expect. At least the servants who were stationed on the dais." Sir Eric frowned. "I'll question them all. Haddie too. She's our cook. My real concern is that this man might join your army. Continue to travel with you. Try again."
Achan lay awake that night overwhelmed by the evening's festivities. He wanted to help, to at least speak to Lady Livna-to offer his condolences. But the knights had locked him away in his chamber. If he were to be king, shouldn't he be able to make some decisions? Shouldn't he be able to tell the knights what to do? At least make suggestions?
Being cooped up in his chamber left him no viable task but to shadow the minds of the knights who weren't guarding the outside of his door. Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb met with Captain Demry to talk circles around the poisoning. Sir Eagan met with Sir Eric and Lady Livna, as he apparently spent much of his youth living here and was as grieved over Lord Livna's death as they were. Sparrow lay in bed, weeping over who knew what.
Achan had never considered how much people would sacrifice for their king. Treasures, merchandise, service, their own children.
All for a man locked in his chamber with no power whatsoever.
31
The next morning, the knights, Sir Eric, and Captain Demry came to Achan's chambers. Achan sat against the headboard on his bed, legs outstretched, ankles crossed. He wanted to take part in this discussion, to add something significant, but what would he say? He didn't know what they should do next.
Kurtz had returned from shadowing Esek's men and gave his report. "Esek and his soldiers-around ninety-exited the Tsaftown gates and rode for Berland."
"Roxburg, and as many men as I can spare, will join you on your journey," Sir Eric said. "I must stay to console my mother and rule Tsaftown until my brother returns from sea. Then I will join you."
Achan piped up before anyone else could. "We thank your mother for her diversion. How does she fare?"
"She is in seclusion. I will pass on your concern," Sir Eric said, as if he couldn't be bothered with any more emotion. "I know you plan to visit Carmine next, but it is unwise to set out until scouts check the way. Since you should not linger here, either, I suggest taking the hunting trail over the mountain to Mitspah. Send scouts on the dark and light roads to report what they see. By that time, if any of Esek's men block the road to Carmine, you could ask Duchess Amal to send aid."
"The pass will slow us down greatly," Sir Gavin said.
"Why not be sending scouts into Light now?" Inko asked. "If it's being safe, that direction is being quickest. The duchess could still be sending aid if we were to be needing it."
Sir Eric shook his head. "Lingering keeps your men open to attack. What's left of the IceIsland guard is searching for prisoners and traitors. The refugees are being housed all over the city. All are at risk until we can get you on your way."
People were in danger, hiding Achan's army in their homes. How many others had lost their lives for Achan's sake? Lord Livna. The serving boy. Achan's stomach lurched, queasy. He clenched his fists, willing away the soft emotions. They would do him no good.
Months ago Achan would have given anything to change his station. But king? He'd never dreamed of such a calling. It was too much. He missed his old life. Sleeping under the ale casks. Milking the goats. Chatting with Noam at the Corner. Sitting with Gren under the allown tree by the river.
Gren would know how to comfort him. But these men? Not one tear shed for that serving boy. Though he knew he shouldn't, Achan looked in on Gren.
— trying to put it through the strainer and into the jar, but it spilled. It took me hours to clean up. Gren stood looking at a table covered with jars of pickled apples. She reached behind her back and worked at the knot on her apron.
Smells good, though, Bran said.
Gren's heart raced. You're just being kind.
No, I love pickled apples, especially over lamb chops.
Gren fought the knot a second more, then stomped her foot. She turned her back to Bran, her skirt twirling around her legs. Help me untie this? My fingers are all prunes, and the knot is too tight. Bran's fingers tugged at the ties. I'm glad you came to visit.
Bran didn't answer right away. I'm glad you're liking the kitchens. It's safer in here, I think, with all the women. The apron loosened. Bran's hands fell away. There you are.
Thank you. She folded the apron and peered into the kitchen. Jespa, the cook, engrossed in trimming the pastry off the edges of a pie, paid them no mind.
Bran watched Gren with a crooked smile.
Her stomach zinged to her heart. What?
Nothing. He looked toward the stairwell. I should go. I need to get back to my post.
Gren blinked repeatedly, not wanting to cry. This had been the first time Master Rennan had come to visit in days. What could she do to make him stay longer? She brushed her finger against the side of his hand. He snagged her hand in his and released it just as quickly, but at least his eyes were locked with hers again. She inched closer, gazing into his brown eyes, willing him to care. He leaned forward, ever so slowly.
Achan jumped through Gren into Bran's mind and found himself aching to kiss Gren. No, he said to Bran, alarmed at the course this friendship had taken. Don't you dare.
Bran's chest swelled with a deep breath and he stepped back. I'll try and come again tomorrow. Farewell. He took two steps back, then darted up the servants' stairs.
Achan concentrated on Gren and returned to her head.
Farewell, she mumbled, sticking out her bottom lip. Surely Master Rennan cared more than he let on. She went back to her jars of pickled apples, started adding lids, but by the time she got to the third jar, she was crying.
Achan withdrew, but kept his eyes closed, struggling over what he'd seen. Clearly, Gren and Bran fancied each other. A pang of loneliness dug into his gut like a chisel. Any hope he harbored at reconciling with Gren was hopeless now. He pictured himself sitting on a throne, haggard, staring at his wife, a woman who despised him, who'd never wanted to marry him. Their children hid behind her skirt, afraid of the man Mother despised.